The silence after the door closed was heavier than stone.
Not peaceful. Not calm. But charged—like the air before a storm, thick with the scent of ozone and old magic. I stood in the center of my private study, backlit by the low fire in the hearth, hands clenched at my sides, fangs bared. My pulse was a slow, controlled rhythm, but beneath it—beneath the ice, beneath the centuries of discipline—something was *breaking*.
Indigo.
Her scent still clung to the air—indigo and iron, midnight and fire. The memory of her lips on mine, soft and yielding, the bond *singing* between us. The way she’d laced her fingers with mine, not out of fear, not out of obligation, but *choice*. And then—
Lira.
Her name was a poison on my tongue. A wound I’d thought long healed. She’d been nothing to me—a political convenience, a brief distraction in the endless night of my reign. A moment of weakness, two centuries ago, when grief had been a blade in my chest and I’d been desperate to forget the woman who’d died with my name on her lips.
But Lira had never let go.
And now she was using Indigo’s doubt like a weapon.
I turned, my boots clicking once on the obsidian floor, and strode to the window. The enchanted glass filtered the city’s glow into fractured silver, the ley lines pulsing beneath Vienna like veins of power. From here, I could see the Council Hall, its spires piercing the sky, a monument to lies and blood. Cassian was there. Waiting. Watching. And Lira—
I exhaled, long and slow, and pressed a hand to the cold glass.
She’d shown Indigo the ring. The *forged* ring. The bite mark. The lies.
And Indigo—
She’d believed her.
Not completely. Not yet. But the crack was there. Small. Sharp. Poisonous. I’d seen it in her eyes when she’d walked out—doubt. Fear. *Jealousy*.
And the bond—
It had *pulled*. Not toward me. Not with desire.
With *hurt*.
I closed my eyes. I could still feel her—her pulse beneath my fingers, her breath against my neck, the way her body had arched into mine when I kissed her. She was mine. Not because of magic. Not because of fate.
Because she *wanted* to be.
But she didn’t know it yet.
And until she did—
I had to be stronger.
Had to be *patient*.
Because if I pushed too hard, if I claimed her before she was ready, I’d lose her. Not to Cassian. Not to Lira.
To herself.
A knock.
Sharp. Insistent.
The door.
“Enter,” I said, voice low.
Silas stepped inside, his half-fae features shadowed in the dim light, his expression unreadable. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, then moved to stand beside me, hands clasped behind his back.
“She went to Lira’s chambers,” he said, voice neutral. “Spoke with her. Left quickly.”
I didn’t respond. Just kept my gaze on the city.
“She’s shaken,” Silas continued. “Not weak. Not broken. But… uncertain.”
“Of me?”
“Of herself.”
I turned then, finally, those molten gold eyes locking onto his. “And you? Are you uncertain?”
He didn’t flinch. Just met my gaze, steady, unyielding. “I’ve never seen you lose control. Until her.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.” He hesitated. “She’s different, Kaelen. Not just the bond. Not just the magic. *Her*. And if you don’t claim her soon—”
“I won’t force her,” I snapped. “Not like this. Not when she’s still fighting me in her mind.”
“Then what will you do?” he asked. “Wait? While Cassian plots? While Lira whispers? While the Council turns?”
“I’ll protect her,” I said, voice rough. “With my life. With my throne. With my *soul*.”
Silas studied me—those sharp, observant eyes searching, *testing*—then nodded. “Then do it. But don’t let her walk away.”
He turned, walked to the door, and opened it—
And stopped.
“She’s coming,” he said, voice low. “Now.”
I didn’t move. Just turned back to the window, hands clenched at my sides, fangs still bared.
And then—
She was there.
Not hesitant. Not cautious.
But *furious*.
The door slammed open, her boots striking the stone with sharp, deliberate steps. Her hair was loose, her eyes blazing, her magic simmering beneath her skin like a storm about to break. The mating mark still glowed faintly beneath her collar, a pulse of indigo light that matched the rhythm of her breath.
“You lied to me,” she said, voice low, dangerous.
“I haven’t lied to you since the night we met,” I said, not turning. “Not about Cassian. Not about your mother. Not about *us*.”
“Then explain *this*.” She yanked the silver ring from her pocket—the forged one, Lira’s lie—and threw it at my feet. It skittered across the stone, landing with a sharp clink. “Explain why she has your ring. Why she has your *scent* on her skin. Why she says you *called her name* in the dark.”
“Because she’s a liar,” I said, finally turning. “Because she wants what she can’t have. Because she’s *jealous*.”
“And the bite mark?”
“Self-defense,” I said. “She attacked me. I defended myself. The mark is a wound, not a claim.”
“Then why hasn’t *she* been marked?” she demanded, stepping closer. “Why hasn’t *she* been claimed? Why haven’t you—”
“Because I want *you*,” I said, voice rough, stepping forward. “Not her. Not anyone else. *You*. And I won’t claim you until you *ask* for it. Until you *beg* for it. Until you’re so desperate for me that you can’t breathe without my name on your lips.”
She froze.
Then—
She slapped me.
Not hard. Not with magic.
But with *fury*.
Her palm struck my cheek, sharp and stinging, the sound echoing in the chamber. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just watched her, those molten gold eyes searching, *testing*.
“You don’t get to decide what I want,” she hissed. “You don’t get to stand there and talk about *begging* like I’m some desperate little witch who can’t control herself.”
“You’re not desperate,” I said, stepping closer. “You’re *mine*. And you know it. You feel it. The bond doesn’t lie, Indigo. It only shows the truth you’re too afraid to face.”
“And what truth is that?” she snapped.
“That you want me,” I said, voice dropping, rough, intimate. “That you’ve wanted me since the moment our hands touched. That every time you say you hate me, your body says the opposite. That when I touch you—” I reached out, brushed my thumb over the mating mark. “—you *burn*.”
Her breath hitched.
“You’re not some pawn in your revenge game,” I murmured, stepping closer. “You’re my bondmate. My equal. And whether you like it or not—” My voice dropped, rough, intimate. “—you’re *mine*.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at me, those dark eyes wide, unblinking, *hers*.
And then—
I kissed her.
Not soft. Not gentle.
But *hard*—my mouth crashing into hers, my fangs grazing her bottom lip, just enough to draw a bead of blood. She tried to pull away, but I held her, relentless, my tongue sliding against hers, claiming, *consuming*.
And then—
The bond *erupted*.
Fire ripped through me, not pain, but *pleasure*—white-hot, blinding, *inescapable*. My knees buckled. My hands fisted in her tunic. My body pressed into hers, desperate, *needy*.
She gasped, low and deep, and I lifted her, one hand under her thigh, the other at her back, carrying her to the wall. My body pinned hers, her legs tightening around me, her hips *grinding* against mine, seeking friction, seeking *more*.
“Kaelen—” she gasped, breaking the kiss.
“Say it,” I demanded, voice rough. “Say you want me.”
“I—”
And then—
I moved.
My hand slid up, over her ribs, to the curve of her breast. My thumb brushed the underside, just once. A test. A promise.
She arched into me, traitorous, desperate.
“Say it,” I growled.
“Never.”
“Then I’ll make you.”
My other hand slid down, over her hip, to the curve of her ass, pulling her harder against me. My fangs grazed her throat, just a whisper of pressure, a promise of what was to come.
She moaned—low, sweet, *mine*—and I kissed her again, deeper, harder, *ours*.
And then—
I lifted her higher, one hand under her thigh, the other at her back, pressing her against the wall. My mouth moved to her neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing, marking, *claiming*.
Her hands fisted in my hair. Her hips ground against mine. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
“Kaelen—”
“Say it,” I demanded, voice rough. “Say you’re mine.”
“I—”
And then—
I unbuttoned her blouse.
Just one. Just enough to expose the curve of her breast, the lace of her undergarment, the pulse at the base of her throat.
My thumb brushed the edge of the fabric, just once.
She gasped.
“Say it,” I growled, leaning in, my lips brushing her ear. “Say you want me. Say you need me. Say you’re *mine*.”
Her breath came fast. Her magic surged. The Mark of the Eclipse flared, a pulse of heat that made her gasp.
And then—
I slipped my hand beneath the fabric.
Just enough to cup her breast, my thumb brushing her nipple through the lace.
She *arched*.
Moaned.
Pressed into my touch.
“Kaelen—”
“Say it,” I demanded, voice rough. “Say you’re mine.”
And then—
A knock.
Sharp. Insistent.
The door.
We broke apart, gasping, swollen-lipped, blood on our mouths, her blouse half-open, my hand still beneath the fabric, her body still pressed to mine.
“Kaelen,” came the guard’s voice, muffled. “It’s urgent. Cassian’s men—they’re at the gates. They’ve breached the outer wards.”
I exhaled, long and slow, then pressed my forehead to hers. “Later,” I murmured. “This isn’t over.”
“It never is,” she said, voice unsteady.
I stepped back, but my hand lingered on her hip, my thumb brushing the curve just once. Then I turned, walked to the door, and opened it just enough to speak.
“Mobilize the inner guard,” I said, voice cold, commanding. “Seal the lower levels. And send Silas to me—*now*.”
The guard nodded, then disappeared down the corridor.
I turned back to her.
She was still against the wall, one hand pressed to her chest, breath ragged, the mating mark glowing faintly beneath her collar. Her blouse was still open, her skin flushed, her lips swollen from my kiss.
And her eyes—
They weren’t afraid.
They weren’t angry.
They were *hungry*.
“You’re not going to run,” I said, stepping closer. “Not from this. Not from *me*.”
“You don’t own me,” she said, stepping away.
“No,” I agreed. “But the bond does. And so does your magic.”
She didn’t answer. Just turned, hand on the door—
“Indigo.”
She stopped.
Didn’t turn.
“The next time I touch you,” I said, voice low, rough, “I won’t stop. Not until you’re screaming my name. Not until you’re *marked*. Not until you’re *mine*.”
She turned her head, just slightly. “Then I’ll make you *bleed*.”
And she stepped outside.
I watched her go, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
And then—
I smiled.
Because I knew—
She wasn’t running.
She was *hunting*.
And so was I.
—
The days passed like a slow bleed—quiet, relentless, the tension coiling tighter with every breath. Indigo and I had not spoken of the almost-claiming since that night. We moved through the residence like ghosts, our paths crossing in corridors, our hands brushing during Council meetings, our eyes locking across chambers—but never touching. Not truly. Not since the Blood Moon test, when she’d let me hold her, fully clothed, trembling in my arms as the crimson light bled across the sky.
She hadn’t pulled away.
She hadn’t fought.
She’d *melted*.
And I—
I had held her like she was already mine.
But Cassian wasn’t done.
And neither was Lira.
—
The announcement came at dawn.
A formal decree, delivered by a Dominion herald in silver and black, the scroll sealed with wax the color of fresh blood. The Council was convening for an emergency session—*again*—and all members were required to attend. But this time, the summons bore a name that made my fangs bare:
Lira Nox requests audience.
I crushed the scroll in my hand, the wax cracking like bone. Silas stood beside me, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“She’s not done,” he said.
“No,” I agreed, voice low. “She’s just beginning.”
“And Indigo?”
“She’ll come,” I said. “Because she has to. Because she’s Eclipse. Because she’s *mine*.”
Silas didn’t flinch. Just studied me—those sharp, observant eyes searching, *testing*—then nodded. “Then be ready. Lira won’t attack with fangs. She’ll attack with words.”
“Let her try,” I said, tossing the crushed scroll into the fire. “I’ve survived worse.”
—
The Council Hall was already half-full when we arrived.
Chandeliers of frozen moonlight hung above, casting long shadows across the black marble. The twelve thrones loomed in a semicircle, each marked with the sigil of its species. Vampires in velvet and silver. Werewolves in furs and bone. Fae in illusion-woven silk. Witches in ink-stained linen.
And at the center—Cassian.
He sat in his throne, back straight, hands resting on the armrests, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those ancient, dead eyes—flicked to me the moment I entered. To the space beside me. To where Indigo walked, her boots clicking once, twice, three times on the stone.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just kept walking, her spine straight, her gaze sharp. The mating mark still glowed faintly beneath her collar, a pulse of indigo light that matched the rhythm of her breath.
We took our seats—side by side, per Council decree. The bond pulsed between us, low and insistent, feeding on the tension, on the hatred, on the sheer *need* that had been building since the moment our hands touched.
And then—
She entered.
Lira.
She glided into the chamber like smoke, wearing a gown the color of spilled blood, her hair loose, her eyes sharp with amusement. She didn’t go to her seat. Didn’t bow. Didn’t acknowledge the Council.
She walked straight to the center of the chamber.
And then—
She turned.
And smiled.
“Representatives,” she began, voice like velvet and poison, “I come before you not as a rival. Not as a schemer. But as a *witness*.”
The chamber stilled.
“I come to speak of truth. Of loyalty. Of a bond that was broken not by magic—but by *betrayal*.”
My fangs bared.
Indigo tensed beside me, her hand curling into a fist.
“Two centuries ago,” Lira continued, “I stood at the side of the High Sovereign. I fought beside him. I bled for him. And in the darkest night of his grief, when the woman he loved was taken from him—” She paused, her gaze flicking to me, then to Indigo. “—I was the one who held him. The one who whispered his name in the dark. The one who let him feed from me, not in passion—but in *pain*.”
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
“And he marked me,” she said, turning her head, offering the Council a better view of the bite on her throat. “Not as a lover. Not as a conquest. But as a *promise*. A vow that he would never be alone again.”
My jaw clenched.
“But then,” she said, voice dropping, “*she* came.” She pointed at Indigo. “A half-blood witch with a stolen name and a forged claim. She seduced him. She used the bond to bind him to her will. And she erased me.”
“Liar,” Indigo hissed.
“Am I?” Lira smiled. “Then why hasn’t he marked *you*? Why hasn’t he claimed you? Why hasn’t he—”
“Because I *choose* her,” I said, standing, my voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
The chamber fell silent.
Every eye turned to me.
Even Cassian’s breath hitched.
“You,” I said, stepping forward, my boots striking the stone with deliberate force, “were nothing to me. A moment of weakness. A distraction. A lie you’ve worn like a crown for two centuries.” I turned to the Council. “She was never marked. The bite was self-defense. The ring was forged. And the so-called *vow*—” I stepped closer, my voice dropping, rough, dangerous—“was a lie. And I will not let her stand here and defile the truth.”
Lira didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “Then prove it.”
“I don’t have to,” I said. “Because the bond is real. The mark is real. And she—” I turned, my gaze locking onto Indigo, “—is mine.”
The chamber erupted.
Voices. Shouts. Demands for proof.
And then—
Cassian stood.
“There is a way,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “A test. A *public* test. The High Sovereign must prove his loyalty. Not to the Council. Not to the Dominion. But to the woman he claims as his bondmate.”
My pulse spiked.
“What kind of test?” I asked, voice cold.
“A simple one,” he said, smiling. “A blood oath. Public. In front of us all. And when the ritual is complete—” He paused. “—we will see if the bond holds. If it is truly fated. Or if it is merely… *convenience*.”
I stared at him.
It wasn’t just a test.
It was a trap.
A public spectacle. A humiliation. A chance to expose me, to discredit me, to make me fail in front of the entire Council.
And if I refused—
I was weak. A fraud. A coward.
But if I succeeded—
I was a threat. A target. A man who had to be destroyed.
I looked at Indigo.
She didn’t speak. Just held my gaze, those dark eyes searching, *testing*.
And then—
She nodded.
Once.
A silent promise. A silent strength.
I turned back to Cassian.
“Very well,” I said, voice low, dangerous. “I accept.”
Indigo’s Claim
The first time Indigo sees Kaelen D’Vire, he’s standing in shadow, his crimson-lined cloak pooling like spilled blood across marble. She came to the Midnight Accord under false papers, a witch with a mission: expose the vampire king’s treachery, dismantle his alliance with the Fae High Court, and reclaim the stolen Black Sigil — the artifact that proves her lineage as the last heir of the Eclipse Coven. But before she can speak, before she can even draw breath, the ancient Council binds them together with a cursed contract: “One touch, one fate.” Their palms meet — and the world burns.
A jolt of magic sears through them. Her skin flushes, her pulse roars. His eyes, once cold obsidian, flare with molten gold. For a heartbeat, they are not enemies — but mates, bound by a force older than war. He drags her close, his voice a velvet threat: “You’re mine now, little witch. Fight me, and we both burn.” She hisses back: “I came here to bury you.”
But the bond doesn’t lie. It aches. It hungers. And when a rival vampire emerges from his chambers wearing only his shirt, whispering of nights spent in his bed, Indigo’s fury ignites — and so does his jealousy. Secrets unravel. Blood is spilled. A ritual gone wrong leaves them naked in each other’s arms, marked, breathless, and trembling with forbidden need.
They are at war — with each other, with their courts, with the past. But their bodies know the truth: they were made to destroy — or save — each other. And in a world where power is blood, and love is a weapon, the only way out is through.